


There's no I in Happy but There is one in Fight

by PrettyOkayGatsby



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Foul Language, Jailbait!Patrick, M/M, Minor Violence, Van Days, asshole ocs, dirty teenage boy smooches, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyOkayGatsby/pseuds/PrettyOkayGatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe Patrick should stop wandering off alone after shows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's no I in Happy but There is one in Fight

_“You should join,” Pete said, looking stunned and ecstatic._

_Joe just looked smug. “I told you,” he said._

_Patrick frowned. “I don’t really sing, I’m much more of a drummer, isn’t that what you guys said you needed?”_

_“Didn’t you hear yourself just now?” Pete crowed, slammed into him like a semi-truck, bit down on the apple of Patrick’s left cheek, close enough to his eye that his breath (Cheetos) blew hot and uncomfortable against it. “You should-just wow, man. You’ve never sang before? For anyone? You’ve got to be fucking me with man. That shit doesn’t happen naturally.”_

_“I don’t sing,” Patrick insisted, leaning away from the elder’s touch._

_Pete laughed, grabbed a fistful of Patrick’s sweater and said, “well you should have man, you’ve been depriving the world of something great.”_

_“He’s right, Patrick,” Joe said. “You’re good.”_

_“I just met you guys,” Patrick said and looked to Joe for help. You dragged me into this, he wanted to say, even as the embarrassment was tapered off by something else. He had never been complemented like that before, by someone outside his family, never had anyone tell him he was  great at something or that they needed him for him. “You don’t know-but I can’t-really-I don’t sing, can’t you get someone else to do it?”_

_“We could, but I don’t want to.”_

_“I don’t-”_

_“Come on,” Pete wheedled, “look, man, I’ve lost two decades of my life without you; I’m not going to waste another single minute. If you really, really, really hate it you can be drummer, no questions asked.”_

_Patrick sighed. “Okay.”_

Patrick sucked in a deep breath as Joe’s last chords began to fade away. Pete wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled his face into his armpit, wrestling the microphone out of his hands. “Thank you, Chicago!” he screamed over Patrick’s cries for help, “you’ve been a fan-fucking-tastic audience!”

“Let me go,” Patrick shouted and punched him hard in the knee.

“Fuck!” Pete said and buckled his knees. “You got a mean punch there, Stump.”

“You’re an asshole, God, my eyes are watering,” Patrick complained. “When was the last time you took a shower?” They tumbled off stage and Patrick pretended he didn’t feel a flash of jealousy as Pete stared at the next band’s pianist.

“Can’t remember, what’s today?”

“The sixteenth.”

“Fuck, okay, so not since the 29th.”

“Jesus Christ, Pete,” Patrick said. “I’m going to go buy myself a water to drown myself in.”

“Hurry back!” Pete said cheerfully, twisting his head to continue to stare at the pianist. Patrick bit his lip and walked off, yanking his hat lower over his head as he attempted to squeeze through the crowd unnoticed.

“Just a bottle of water, please,” he asked the concession stand girl. She eyed him up and down and grinned, snapping loudly at her gum.

“Four dollars, jailbait.”

He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes; _he’d never heard that one before_ and began to dig through his pockets. “Do you have change for a ten?”

“Here’s the money, can I get a beer too?”

Patrick turned and nearly fell backwards once he realized _God damn this guy is close to my face._

“Kay,” the girl said and slid the bottle and plastic cup over the counter. “Next!”

“Thanks,” Patrick said as he was shoved off to the side by hungry teenagers, “that was really nice of you.”

The guy grinned, took a sip of his beer and licked his lips, ran his tongue over the prongs of his snake bites. “No problem,” he said, “looked like you needed a hand.”

“I had the money,” Patrick muttered and pulled out a crumpled five, “have actually, here; thanks for the help earlier.”

“Keep your money, if you want to hand me numbers I’d rather it was for a phone.”

Patrick winced, took a small step back, “um I’d really rather-”

“I don’t bite,” he purred and matched Patrick’s movement. “if you don’t want me to.”

Patrick gasped as the air was suddenly knocked out of him, two strong arms wrapping around his middle and pulling him back against a very familiar chest.

“Clyde,” Pete said, “what the fuck are you doing here, man? I know that you got a full ride to CU, don’t tell me you got kicked out already.”

“Taking a vacation, dude,” Clyde said and grinned his lazy, Cheshire grin. Patrick felt rather than saw Pete’s leg slide in front of his, his right arm sliding down to grip Patrick’s forearm. “Thought I’d come back and see if there were any new jailbait on the scene, have a little fun with them, show ‘em the ropes of everything, like old times, remember-”

_Like he was getting ready to throw him._

“Found this little guy wandering around-” Patrick made an angry noise “–decided to see if he wanted to take a ride with me.”

“Sorry,” Pete said in a strange voice, “but you can’t. He can’t. He’s mine.”

Clyde blinked, his eyes flickering between the two. “Never took you for one to keep your pets after you were done breaking them in, Pete,” he said.

Patrick flinched. Pete’s grip grew dangerously tight, enough so that Patrick could feel the studs of his bracelet press into the soft spot where his ribs ended as Pete drew him closer, his fingers just this side of  painful as they curled around his side. “He isn’t a pet,” he said lowly, dangerously, “you fucking asshole, get the fuck out of here.”

“Whatever, man,” Clyde snorted, “Keep the fat ass.”

He walked past him and maybe just maybe Pete would have been willing to let him go if he hadn’t shoved a hand into Patrick’s stomach, hard enough to push him over if it wasn’t for Pete’s vice grip. Patrick made a small noise in the back of his throat and that was the last straw.

Pete moved in a flash, one moment coiled around Patrick like a snake the next pressing the other teen against the wall, a dark blur in the dim lighting of the club. Patrick stared horrified as Clyde’s head slammed against the wall, heard the sound of fist meeting flesh as Pete punched him hard across the face. “Don’t you ever talk about him like that again,” Pete snarled and hit him again, “don’t you ever even fucking look at him again.”

The other teens ignored them and Patrick knew enough about these types of parties that no one was going to be calling the cops any time soon. “Pete,” he said and wondered _where the fuck the rest of his band was, why was it always Patrick that had to pry Pete off the floor. _“Pete, let go of him!”

Pete fell back on his ass, with Patrick’s hands wrapped tightly around his forearms, kicked out so Clyde slid on the floor with a sickening moan. “I’ll fucking kill you!” Pete hissed.

“Pete, come on, Pete, we’re leaving!” Patrick shouted, struggled to keep his grip as the other writhed. “Pete, come on!”

Pete let himself be led away, shaking with fury the entire time. Patrick kept silent, aware that if Pete really wanted to, he could easily overpower him. They passed TJ and Joe on the way out and Patrick shook his head quickly at Joe’s questioning look, shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes, their unofficial symbol for _leave him the fuck alone_.

Their symbol for _‘leave it to Patrick’._

Patrick didn’t relinquish his grip until they were safely outside and a good few yards away from the entrance and even then it was much more Pete twisting out of his grip than Patrick releasing him.

“Fuck!” Pete screamed and punched the buggy parked next to them. Patrick winced at the dent.

“Pete,” he said gently, “you need to calm down, it’s over now.”

Pete turned to him, his chest heaving and he bared his teeth. “He called you names, Patrick,” he said and Patrick couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped, ugly and bitter.

“So? He’s not the first one and he’s not the last. I go through this every day, Pete, just leave it alone.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Pete hissed, “is that supposed to calm me down because I swear Patrick, give me names and I’ll ground their asses too. They don’t fucking deserve to-”

“To what, Pete? They don’t deserve to what? Because I know they don’t deserve getting punched into the fucking concrete!” Patrick bellowed. He was getting tired of this and it showed.

“They don’t fucking deserve you!” Pete screeched. “They, all those fucking idiots, those kids from your school they don’t fucking deserve to see you every day, to have years and years with you and fucking throw it away while I’m just getting you now. You don’t deserve to have to deal with this shit and I hate how willing you are to just take it!”

“It’s not like that, Pete,” Patrick growled, “just because I don’t beat the fuck out of anybody who looks at me weird doesn’t mean I need you to look after me like I’m some fucking kid. I can take care of myself.”

“Fuck, Patrick,” Pete laughed hysterically. “Don’t you fucking get it? You don’t!” he ran his fingers through his hair. “Why do you think I care so much huh? Hasn't it occurred to you that I never want you to have to take care of yourself? Have you ever stopped for a fucking single second and thought everything that hurts you hurts me just as much?”

Pete stepped forward and Patrick saw his bruised knuckles, the bruise blooming on his face, the wild expression and was unafraid.

“Then make me understand,” Patrick said, “because I’m just not getting it on my own.”

Pete took Patrick’s hands in his gently, held them to his face and kissed his palms, stared at the contrast between their hands ( _paleperfectcallouseddarkbloodybroken)_ before intertwining their fingers and letting their arms drop. He stared at Patrick for a moment, hungrily in a way that was exactly the same and completely different from earlier then shoving his face into the crook of Patrick’s neck, letting go and hugging Patrick like a teddy bear.

“I love you,” he muttered, “I love you, I love you, I love you so much.”

Patrick let that sink in for a moment, a statue under Pete's ministrations, absorbing the flood of words _loveyouloveyouloveyousomuchpleasedon'tleavemepleasePatrickstaydon'tgodon'thurtanymoreIcan'ttakeitwhenyouhurt_

“Is that all?" he asked finally. "You love me?"

Pete nodded against him, kissed his pulse point. “More than anything in this world, Patty boy, you should know that by now.”

Patrick laughed, “I guess I should,” and twisted his neck so he could kiss the top of his head. “I love you too, for what it’s worth,” he whispered. Pete hugged Patrick, tightly, his shoulders shaking, something wet seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. Patrick waited patiently, stroking his hair and said, "you were going to destroy yourself over this, weren't you?" he asked. "As if I would have ever said no to you. Like I've ever been capable of saying no to you." _  
_

"I didn't want you to say yes just because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no."

He had begun to stiffen again and Patrick hurried to soothe the accidental wound. "It's not like that. A better way to put it would be when have I ever been able to resist you?" he kissed the side of Pete's mouth. "If you haven't seen the way I looked at you, then I don't know what to tell you, Pete. There was absolutely no way for me to make it more obvious than it already was."

Pete sagged against him, “I love you, I've loved you for as long as I've known you, I hope you now that,” he said into Patrick's neck, peppering it with wet, sloppy kisses. "God, I love you so much."

“I love you too,” Patrick said. "Don't ever think I don't."

“Could you sing something for me?” he asked.

“I think TJ and Joe want to go home already.”

“Fuck them,” Pete said and burrowed deeper against Patrick. “They can wait, just one quick song, please, Patrick.”

“Sure, Pete,” Patrick said and found he really didn’t mind. He curled his hands into Pete’s hair, felt his breath gust against his skin and began to sing.


End file.
